Battling Isolation One Message at a Time

Welcome to our series of Friday Teacher Scenes where Ethical ELA features teachers’ stories from their classrooms and experiences to contribute to and shape the public narrative of what it means to be an English language arts teacher in today’s sociopolitical climate. We hope to center and uplift one another by featuring the professional, informed, intentional work that drives and makes possible inclusive-affirming critical language arts learning spaces. We welcome your stories in the comments or contact Sarah if you’d like to contribute a blog post.

Battling Isolation One Message at a Time

by Erin Vogler

If you’re here reading this, you know. You know how hard this work can be. You know the feelings of isolation that often find their way into your world, even when surrounded by supportive colleagues and friends. This work is hard and it demands so much of our time, our attention, and our hearts, even on the “normal” days. In my twenty-three years in the classroom, it’s a struggle I still find myself in frequently. We also know, deep down, that our students confront that disconnect daily despite our best efforts. So, what do we do?  We work to find new ways to intentionally remind one another that we are not in any of this alone.

A Deep(er) Disconnect

Enter Covid-19. The accompanying shut-downs in the Spring of 2020 left me feeling more isolated than ever before in my life. I went from boisterous classrooms full of sophomores and eighth graders, to blank, empty screens and constantly changing information in the span of one weekend.  I was both deeply engaged in gathering information and completely lost in and disoriented by the ways in which our world changed in 48 hours. What began as a weekend away from my bustling classroom turned into two weeks. Two weeks quickly morphed into the unbelievable expanse of time indefinite. 

I was able to tread water, to keep my head above and constantly seeking the horizon, for the first month. Each day it became more difficult to find my way through the feelings of anxiety, confusion, and disconnection that were piling up day by day. It became apparent, quickly, that connection via phones and screens just wasn’t cutting it. Even though I maintained connection with family and friends, I was lost without the daily connection with my students. I knew that many of my students were feeling that way too. I needed to find a way to let them know that there was still light and connection to be found in a world that felt dark and unpredictable. I needed to remind myself too.

(Re)building Connection

I spent the final weeks of the 2020 school year trying to find ways to connect with my students and let them know that I really cared more about HOW they were doing than what they were producing. In these unprecedented weeks and months, the “work” of school just didn’t matter, especially when I knew so many of my students were experiencing screen and information burnout. Sometimes this looked like posting a positive message in Google Classroom for everyone. Other times it looked like sending a note or card in the mail, recording a video that was just focused on a bright spot (what many call “glimmers”), or a phone call or email to check in. 

Once I let go of what didn’t really matter, I was able to focus on what did. I fell back on a truth I’ve always known: our words have power. I decided to work to harness that power to let my students know that they were not alone in any of this. Throughout the rest of the school year, I continued to send messages to groups and individuals, and when I received responses, they were always anchored in gratitude. My students made it clear that they appreciated knowing they were cared for, first and foremost, as humans. I knew I was on the right track.

Returning Together 

Our return to school in the fall included another unprecedented step, alternating day cohorts. Though we would be back together, it wasn’t in a way that any of us recognized. Inspired by people like Monte Syrie and Michelle Haseltine, I decided that I wanted every student who walked in my room (or was observing it through a screen) to see at least one positive message every single day. I knew we were all walking into a world that would be teetering between a desperate grab for “normal” and a deep need to make up for lost time, and I wanted students to know that they were seen, valued, appreciated, and cared for. This is how the #3024daily was born.  

This message was our first, on that uncertain September day in 2020 when we were back together for the first time:

When students enter the room each day, they see a message that is focused on building them up and reminding them of the light in the world. Each one is a reflection of what we’re experiencing in and of the moment, of what I’ve noticed we need on each day. I don’t draft them ahead of time. I give myself fifteen minutes each morning to get the message on the board. I have a small area dedicated to the messages, so brevity matters too. Each time I step to the board to compose, I write what’s on my heart. 

Some days I open class by reading them aloud, some days we use them to spark writing in our notebooks, and others I let them quietly take up the space, there for anyone who needs a glimmer of light in their day. 

I challenged myself, from the beginning, to share the messages on social media. Something in me knew that these intentional messages might help others. Not only do I see them as a way to let my students know that room 3024 is a place where they are welcome and cared for, I also see them as an opportunity to show my students that we can create community beyond the spaces we physically occupy when we are brave enough to share our light with others.

Overall, the response has been overwhelmingly positive. My students regularly comment on the fact that they appreciate and come to look forward to the messages each day. Many send messages after they’ve been in the room to tell me that a particular day’s message was exactly what they needed. Once students leave for the year, they often begin following my Instagram so they can keep up with the messages after they’re no longer in my classes. 

Beyond my students, the response from the world beyond the walls of room 3024 has been wonderful. These messages have given me the opportunity to connect with more people than I ever imagined, and the messages I receive from readers are full of gratitude. 

There are days when the messages flow easily, and others when the words seem to hide. I write through all of it. This daily practice helps me remember just how hard writing can be. It has reminded me of the power of words and finding light in our days. 

More than anything, this daily practice has taught me to slow down. To listen. None of these messages resonate if I’m not paying attention. This practice has helped me learn how to write with focus and curb my tendency to wander. By limiting space and time, I’ve also had to work within the conditions our own students sometimes face in the assignments and tasks they’re assigned. When we don’t work under similar conditions, even just once in a while, we forget how hard it can be to create meaningful messages and communicate our ideas thoughtfully. Our students need us to remember that struggle so that we can support them through it from a place of experience rather than one of memory or assumption.

If you’d like to try writing messages of your own, start small. Start with one message, the one thing you’d like to say to your students today (or on your first day with them). What do you want students to know about you, your course, or the space they’ll be entering each day?  

Try it! Give yourself fifteen minutes to create a message that lets your students know you see and value them. Share your experience or questions in the comments. I’d love to hear about your experience!

Stay tuned! Our fourth year of messages starts September 6th. 

Join us!